


Relief

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Face-Sitting, Light Bondage, Light-Hearted, Master/Servant, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 21:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7731205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Míriel seeks relief with her favourite handmaid, who is only too eager to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

> Fill the Striptease square in my second Season of Kink card.

The reception had been long, and as soon as they were finally back in Míriel's chambers, alone, Rómelindë hastened to draw a bath for her Queen and get the bed ready for sleep, performing her wonted tasks with unflagging zeal. Míriel had other ladies-in-waiting, of course, but Rómelindë was the one closest to her, the only one allowed to sleep in her chambers and appointed to the care of her person.

After she had plumped up the pillows and pulled the covers back, Rómelindë went back into the bathroom, making sure that the tub was filled and that the water was at the right temperature. She hung clean towels over a wooden stand, and fetched the bath oils from their cabinet, but nearly dropped them when Míriel called her from her boudoir.

The hint of annoyance in her tone sent Rómelindë scurrying across her chambers. Those long, stuffy receptions always put Míriel in bad mood, and Rómelindë found her lounging on her daybed, a fancy seat with a sloping back and curling headrest, staring moodily into the glass she held in her left hand. Even then, Rómelindë couldn't help be enthralled all over again by her beauty. 

“My Lady,” she said softly, coming to stand next to her. 

Míriel drained the last of sweet wine she had poured herself, and set the glass down on the floor with a huff. Then she turned her gaze up at Rómelindë, tilted her head to one side, and yanked on her skirt, forcefully enough to make her lose her balance and crumple down on top of her.

“I...caught you staring at me during the reception,” she purred, and licked her lips, while Rómelindë struggled to get off of her. “I felt...like a tickling, and whenever I looked up your eyes would be glued to my chest. You like this dress so much?”

Rómelindë swallowed thickly, still stooped forward with her face almost in Míriel's cleavage. The short-sleeved dress Míriel wore had a tight-fitting bodice with a very generous neckline that left little to the imagination. “Yes,” she breathed, then hastened to add “– my Lady.”

“What do you think I should do about it?” Míriel asked, keen interest replacing the listless frown of moments before on her face.

“Anything,” Rómelindë quickly replied, “anything you wish is my command.”

“Really?” Míriel's voice sank to a husky whisper. “Take off your dress then.”

Surprise, sheer and sweet, seized Rómelindë, followed by palpitant excitement. Míriel was much more than a mistress to her. She had travelled to Aman because she had no one to rely on in Cuiviénen, no father or mother, and the few friends she had all decided to leave too. When Míriel had taken her under her wing, to nurture her budding talent in embroidery, and made her her chief handmaid, Rómelindë could scarcely believe her fortune. Míriel was her mentor, her love, her life-reason. 

She scrambled to her feet, undid the sash wrapped thrice around her waist and carefully drew her simple but colourful dress over her head.

Without any further delay, Míriel swung her feet off the daybed – Rómelindë noticed that she had already taken off her shoes – and marched her to the bedchamber. Rómelindë went down like an autumn leaf when Míriel ordered her to lie on the crisp, fresh-smelling sheets, and stared up as if bewitched when Míriel crawled atop her. The sash of her dress was used to bind her hands together and tie them to the bedpost, but all Rómelindë was aware of were Míriel's gloved hands holding her wrists, touching her in a more intimate fashion that they ever had before. Once she was immobilised, Míriel grasped the neckline of her undergown and tugged it down until her breasts were hanging out of it.

“No support for your chest,” she taunted and pinched her nipples hard, making her gasp. “Then again, you are a very naughty thing, ogling your Queen openly in brazen lust. You want me naked, right?”

Rómelindë nodded eagerly, barely restraining a moan as Míriel squeezed her nipples even harder. 

“I wonder what goes through your head whenever you undress me, I wonder how often you dream of doing _more_ than undressing me.”

“Every...time.”

“Is that so,” Míriel's lips thinned, her smirk taking on a sterner edge. 

The slap to her right cheek came as a shock, harsh and stinging. Yet it also inflamed Rómelindë in a way that went beyond her wildest fantasies, and she reflexively clenched her legs against an abrupt, fierce burst of arousal which left her briefs sticking to her quim.

“Very well, then,” Míriel said. 

She loosened the transparent shawl wrapped around her neck, and seized one end of it, dragging it slowly off her neck. Rómelindë's eyes never left it a moment as it glided along her mistress' dusky skin, and followed it still when Míriel draped it across her own breasts, trailing it ticklishly over them too. 

Next Míriel lifted her right hand to her mouth and caught the tip of one of the fingers of her glove with her teeth. Mischief in her eyes, she pulled on it, and repeated the titillating motion with the other fingers, then slowly rolled the glove off her arm, throwing it at Rómelindë's face. 

She let her tongue peek through her teeth while she handled the other glove in the same manner, and when it landed on Rómelindë's neck the tips of each finger were more than damp.

With her arms bare, Míriel reached around to her back to undo the clasps of the dress. Rómelindë could just picture her smooth, willowy nape and the alluring dip between her shoulder blades she always dreamt of kissing whenever she undressed her. Míriel took her time, arching her back so that her breasts were thrust forward, teasing Rómelindë with the fact that she could have reached them if her hands had been free. 

The third clasp came undone with a small tinkling sound and Míriel slipped her arms free of the dress. The bodice remained hovering in front of her chest while she unhurriedly gathered the skirt in her hands, and lifted it, revealing her bare thighs and her linen-clad hips and waist bit by bit, until at last she drew the dress over her head and flung it to the floor in one quick motion. 

Rómelindë herself had tied the large ribbon that kept Míriel's skimpy undergown in place, the dark brown of her nipples nearly peeking out of the neckline. Now, she wished she could have ripped the wispy fabric from her body with her eyes.

“Do you want me to take off this too?” Míriel asked, on cue, trailing her hands down over her breasts, her belly and to her thighs. 

“Please, my Lady.”

“And why should I?”

“I want – I _need_ to see you...your beauty, unveiled, unhindered.”

“Well...if you're good enough I might take your entreat into consideration.”

Míriel slid forward on her knees, and positioned herself astride her face. Rómelindë lifted her head off the pillow, unmindful of the strain in her shoulders, and met her halfway as she lowered herself, her tongue darting out towards her quim. Míriel murmured words of approval as she settled down, tangling her hands in Rómelindë's hair. 

Rómelindë licked her thirstily, covering the length of Míriel's slit with every lap, back and forth, and soon Míriel's briefs were thoroughly wet. Míriel's juices soaked through the thin linen and mixed with her spittle, pouring her taste onto Rómelindë's tongue. She licked greedily, feeling with her tongue the narrow opening she couldn't see, the soft nether lips she had often washed with her very hands, and the shape of Míriel's large clit. She licked dutifully, lovingly, rejoicing at every shudder and moan Míriel bestowed on her. Her own sex throbbed, and she was wet to the point of discomfort, but she would have endured that for however long it took to satisfy her mistress' desire.

At last, Míriel undid the ribbon, and grasped the hem of her undergown. Rómelindë's vision was obstructed for a moment, but when the white cloud fluttered away from her face she could see Míriel's breasts above her, finally bare, and she moaned against Míriel's crotch, doubling her efforts in gratitude and reverence. 

Soon after, Míriel ground down on her, legs trembling on either side of Rómelindë's head, rubbing herself on her mouth and nose, and came, smothering Rómelindë until her breath thinned.

Rómelindë could only look on as Míriel's chest heaved deeply, then her shoulders slumped and her face relaxed into a smile which had not lost its roguish edge but was free of all annoyance.

“You have been good indeed,” she said in a low voice, herself out of breath, her quim still pulsating against Rómelindë's face, which was hot and sweaty. “You have earned a reward,” she purred and slid down her body. She perched on Rómelindë's thighs, slipping her hands under the hem of her undergown. “Don't worry, I will be lenient with you if you can't carry out your duties tomorrow morning.”

Rómelindë's heart lurched as she felt Míriel's hands crawl towards her sex, but she managed to gasp out, “I would never fail you, my Lady.”


End file.
